The Great American Road Trip
A brief history of America’s highways
“On the road again; just can’t wait to get on the road again.” ~ Willie Nelson
When was the last time you slid into your car or truck, hooked up your camper, or straddled your motorcycle, and set off on a long road trip? Are you due for a good old-fashioned tour of the U.S.?
Road trips have a long and storied history, dating back to a man named Horatio Nelson Jackson. In 1903, a friend bet him 50 dollars that he could not drive from San Francisco, California, to New York City in an automobile, something that had never been done before. In fact, there were still west-borne wagon trains crossing the country to the promised land.
Horatio’s friend felt secure that it was a fool’s bet, but he was wrong. Driving a 1903 Winton touring car, Horatio and a mechanic named Sewell Crocker set out on a 5,500-mile journey at a time when there was less than 150 miles of paved road in the entire country. What served as roads for most of their trip were rutted, muddy wagon tracks with few places to obtain gas for the two-cylinder, 20-horsepower vehicle.
With the dearth of highways in 1903, maps were of minimal use. The roads were so bad in some locations that on more than one occasion, horses were required to pull the Winton out of the mire.
Still, with all of the challenges Horatio and Sewell encountered on their cross-country adventure, they arrived in their mud-plastered vehicle in New York City in 63 days. Horatio won his bet, and that single trip set the stage for families taking vacations by automobile. But it would be a couple of decades before Henry Ford began mass-producing cars – making them within reach of the average working stiff.
I have logged several cross-country trips in my 76 years, starting with a trip with my father and sister from Vallejo, California, to Columbus, Ohio, in 1965. My father was quite fond of libations, which worked out well for me, an unlicensed driver. He never hit the booze until the afternoon, so I took over the steering wheel when he found it necessary to take a “nap” that usually lasted until the next morning, 400 miles farther down the road. I thoroughly enjoyed that trip and was eager for more.
Because it was February when we headed to Ohio, we took the famous Route 66, a southern route, where we were less likely to encounter snow. I remember well the places of business that served as roadside attractions; places such as Sinclair service stations, of which many had life-size dinosaur statues on the premises.
As for dining and motels, there were the ubiquitous Stuckeys and HoJo’s (Howard Johnson’s Inn.) We couldn’t afford it, so we slept in the old Ford Econoline van. However, our dad would frequently stop at Stuckey’s for the incomparable pecan log roll, which we considered a dandy treat.
Route 66 was the first fully paved highway extending from Santa Monica, California, to Chicago, Illinois. Construction began in 1926 and was completed in 1938. Route 66 came to be known as the Mother Road. This historic highway was decertified in 1985, and it was replaced by Interstate 40.
It is the interstates that have robbed travelers of the romance of highways like Route 66. In most of my travels, I avoid the freeways where every exit looks the same and you feel as though the 18-wheelers are pushing you along.
After our trip from California to Ohio, it would be several decades before I ventured out on a real road trip of substance. In 1985, I took an unpaid leave of absence from my government job and embarked on a solo road trip that would take me from Ohio to Anchorage, Alaska, with numerous stops and adventures along the way.
I built a two-by-four rack on the cap of my Toyota pickup; it was nothing to look at, but it was stable enough to hold a mountain bike and backcountry skis. The covered bed of the truck became my bed and storage area for climbing gear, clothing, and cooking gear.
My first night out on the road found me at a tranquil little state park in Missouri. The next morning, after downing a few cups of coffee and donuts, I performed what I called my “Calendar Ceremony.” Fortunately, no one was camping near me as they would have thought me crazy. I set fire to my calendar in a fire pit. It contained all of my work schedule for the next six months and I danced around the firepit much like a Native American war dance; I felt that incredible sense of freedom that an unplanned journey provides, and, readers, did I have some unexpected adventures on that road trip.
As mentioned earlier, I am no fan of interstates; if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all; no character whatsoever. That said, if one needs to get somewhere quickly, freeways are the way to go. But to use a walking analogy, I like to travel the Blue Highways* by ambling along without regard for arriving at some location in record time.
You never know when you may run across that little cafe with the best slab of strawberry rhubarb pie you have ever tucked into. Likewise, if roadside attractions are your thing, you may have a keen interest in the largest ball of twine in the world, or you can stop and gander at the Cadillac Stonehenge on Route 66 near Amarillo, Texas.
By the way, how did we go from roads that could be best described as quagmires to 48,890 miles of Interstate Highways?
When Henry Ford was turning out vehicles faster than a knife fight in a phone booth, there were no interstate highways.
Former President Dwight D. Eisenhower first conceived a coast-to-coast interstate system in 1919, when he was a young lieutenant colonel leading a convoy from Washington to San Francisco, which took 62 days. He noted that for matters of national defense and the need to connect our driving public to major metropolitan areas, a system of highways is necessary.
Congress wrangled with how to go about building such a system for years, and finally, in 1956, under the presidency of Eisenhower, the building of the interstate highway system we know today began.
Once there were safe and vehicle-friendly roads and freeways, the Big Three, General Motors, Ford, and Chrysler wasted no time in sales campaigns to encourage Americans to get out on the highways with their families, to visit our National Parks, and our major cities.
Dinah Shore, actress, singer, and television personality, hosted a weekly variety show sponsored by General Motors, Chevrolet Division. Shore made famous her sponsor’s commercial ditty in 1952, “See the USA in your Chevrolet.” A song anybody my age will still remember.
Having loved motorcycles most of my life, and after owning several smaller bikes, I decided I wanted to take a long trip, and that meant a road bike with saddlebags and a fairing, plus the speed and the comfort of a Kawasaki Concours, so that’s what I purchased in 1995.
In 1995, cell phones were not yet standard, and I didn’t have one, so when I did have to make a call, I used a prepaid calling card. Additionally, GPS, at least for motorists, was not readily available to the general public. However, AAA provided me with maps of Tennessee, Mississippi, and Louisiana.
Those three states held significance for me in relation to my motorcycle trip, and they are tied to music and food – specifically, Blues music and Southern cuisine, especially Cajun Food. In Memphis, I was lucky enough to snag a parking spot right in front of B.B. King’s Blues Club on Beale Street when a car suddenly pulled out. It was a real privilege to see and hear the King of the Blues in person.
I never expected to visit Graceland while in Memphis, but I just had to after stopping at a small one-pump gas station. Like most southerners, the three women in the store were open to talking to a stranger, and they were inquisitive about where I was heading – I told them, “Where else – New Orleans.”
One of the women who had just got off work after running a cotton harvester all day, convinced me to visit Graceland when she said, “Now, you’re gonna see stairs with one of those velvet ropes, you know, like in the movie theaters. Well, anyway, you can’t go up them stairs and I’ll tell you why.” She leaned into me and whispered. “It’s because they got Elvis up there; he’s still alive. He’s on one of those breathing machines, see?”
With the cotton picker’s colorful, if not imaginative, endorsement of Graceland, I went there the next morning as soon as they opened, and I found the tour quite interesting. When we passed the roped-off stairs, I was going to tell the family from Iowa behind me that Elvis was being kept alive up there, but I thought better of it and chickened out.
I had many experiences on that trip, and my memories of the people and stories I encountered along the way are precious. I spent an evening at a Zydeco bar and restaurant in St. Martinville, Louisiana; there’s nothing in the world like eating a big bowl of steaming crawfish etouffee while tapping your feet to Cajun music.
Sometimes, no matter how beautiful our home turf is, we need a change of scenery, both physically and emotionally. A road trip can be just what the doctor ordered for reminding us of just how beautiful our country is, with its 51 National Parks in the continental United States, not to mention the 154 National Forests and numerous state parks scattered around this broad country.
Travel is always an educational experience, be it here in the U.S. or abroad. Getting out there on the road again can be an adventure shared with family or friends, or you may find a solo trip more to your liking. Solitude can foster creativity and self-reliance.
Despite our political differences here in America, you may find that the man who stopped to help you change a flat tire on his way to work, holds a diametrically opposite political view from you. When my friend, Mark Reed, crossed the country on a bicycle, he found that people went out of their way several times to help him with bike problems. By and large, Americans across the country are friendly, helpful people.
“It’s not the destination, it’s the journey.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
* The term Blue Highways was coined by William Least Heat Moon in his best-selling book about traveling the backroads of America in 1982. These less-travelled roads are the ones colored blue on the old highway maps.
Until next time,
Ken Springer
ken1949bongo@gmail.com
